Humans don't get reconfigured
by Ken's luver
Summary: No one told me humans don't get reconfigured. So what happens to thier digimon when they die? She's never coming back is she" Impmon questioned sadly. (complete)


Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon and I never will.  
  
(A/N: Okay, this is new for me, I'm writing a fanfiction, that has a character other than Ken as the main character. Impmon was my inspiration for this story and let me warn you, I haven't seen the end of season 3 yet. I have just seen "Imperfect storm" but have seen screenshots; spoilers and pretty much know how it all pans out. (I'm a spoiler junky) But this came about 'cause I realized that sure, Digimon die and get reconfigured, but humans don't so what happens to the Digimon when their partners/tamers die? Yup, you guessed it, this is gonna be a tearjerker and like everything else of mine, gonna be dark. This is in a way AU so please don't flame me. I've made the tamer of Impmon me, (very personal there), 'cause I don't like those kids and don't think they deserve him.)  
  
"Humans don't get reconfigured"  
  
Shards of colour pierced the darkness of Nic's room and fell across the flowing blues and greens of her bed spread. The crystal prism that hung in her window turned lazily sending tiny rainbows through the gaps in the curtain, (where she had been too careless to close properly.)  
  
She squeezed her eyes and slowly opened them, her dark, hazel green orbs meeting a set of bright green ones along with a friendly grin. She managed a small smile in reply to Impmon's wake up call and with an effort turned onto her stomach where she closed her eyes again and willed herself to glide back into that world of unconsciousness. She was no where near a morning person.  
  
Usually the little purple creature, who had made himself comfortable upon the small of her back, would continue to try to remove her from her place of slumber. But this morning he wished to spend just an extra moment to steel a glimpse at the woman who once was a child and once was his tamer. Now, his best friend. He had lost the number of years they had spent together. He had watched her bloom from a young teenager, one who had made mistakes and made some wrong choices and taken some bad roads, into a young woman. A young woman who was always fighting those bad impulses. The reason they were so well matched was because they both knew what it was to make mistakes and take that long dark road that looked so good at the time.  
  
There was a time in both their existences that they wished for power. But what they both never realized, or maybe some distant far off, part of themselves did know it, but they ignored it, was that with that power, came the curse of loneliness. The curse of hatred. The curse of anger. The curse of betrayal to their friends and themselves. That no matter how badly they wanted that power in the beginning, they would now do anything to have taken it all away and have never have had it in the first place.  
  
Now they lived together, in Nic's home with her parents and older sister. Impmon didn't really like being at home without Nic. He found himself missing her company and became incredibly lonely when she was gone, though the house may have been alive with the voices of Nic's mother and her sister.  
  
She groaned and stretched out her tall, slender body and flipped onto her back. Impmon tumbled from the dip in her back and landed in a groove of comforter. Her eyes were sincere when she looked to his purple face and expressed her guilt for knocking him off her. He shook his head and not to her surprise laughed it off. Then he flung himself at her stomach that was exposed and only covered with a small baby-blue-bird tank top with a small cloud at the very left-hand corner at the hem. He carried through his attack with an assault of tickling. Gales of laughter followed quickly after and she gasped for air until he halted and looked to her again. "Up, or you'll be late."  
  
She glanced at her clock and turned back to him, "I have plenty of time. The only good thing about Friday classes at college is that they are late." And she prepared herself to roll onto her side, but Impmon raised his hand and showed her one finger,  
  
"Don't make me burn your butt with a bada-boom."  
  
She hopped from the bed and grinned wickedly at him, "Mom would kill me if you scorched my pajamas!"  
  
The digimon sat peacefully upon her ruffled, unmade bed while he watched her perform her morning ritual of combing her hair and tying it back before moving to make her bed. He sprang from the mattress to the soft cream carpet below and padded out the room and to the kitchen, where he would prepare their breakfast while she showered.  
  
The house was void of any other life, but he preferred it this way. Like Nic, he wasn't much of a people's digimon or person. Just being with his closest friend made him float in contentment, though the quiet of the kitchen (where the only sound was the low buzz of the refrigerator) gave him time to reflect on things past. Something, which he never willed himself to do, but found that his mind, as if on a wandering path, would find it's way there.  
  
A long nightmare of daydream flashes scrolled through his mind, past his eyes like it was a slide show and his eyes where the windows where the images would project. But no one but him saw the images he saw. No one watched when he saw himself succumb to the Sovereign. When he, and his soul where thrown into a pit of fiery lava and all humanity left in him burned away like a photo in a flame. Bubbling and resisting at first, then giving in and accepting the devastating truth of the flame and being devoured. Power took its place and he became Beelzemon, a killing machine. Filled with all Power's promises; Anger, Hate, Revenge.  
  
Seeing it all unfold, knowing what was coming next, was excruciating because he knew that no power on earth could ever stop the next event from happening in his minds eye. It had already come to pass, but in this re-run of an old movie within his mind; it all felt to crisp and green. He wished he could reach out to himself and say that executing Leomon was not the answer, and that the power he thought he wanted was not really want he craved. For now he knew what it was all those years ago that he ached for. It was for love. For a friend.  
  
Crystalline tears crawled silently over purple cheeks and came to rest upon pale lips that lifted in the worlds smallest smile at the thought of finding his friend. With each new slide, a better memory would stretch his grin. After coming from the Digital world and having no one to welcome him with an embrace, he melted into the crowd and eventually found himself alone, planted upon an old bench rusting at areas where the paint had been chipped away, exposing open wounds and rusting with tears of rain. A girl, fifteen at the most moved closer to him. Apparently not at all perturbed by his form, she stood in front of him. "Are you okay?"  
  
Looking up he would have seen that she had been crying, her eyes swollen from pearls expelled.  
  
"Not really."  
  
She sat next to him and looked out. "You look like you could use some food and sleep."  
  
"Thanks for noticing."  
  
"Would you like to come home with me? You also look like you could use someone to talk to and I'm a good listener."  
  
Finally, lifting his head he took her in. Her dead straight auburn hair glowed copper in the street lamp light like a hallo, but he had the distinct impression that she had been no angel. Her eyes slightly pink where they should have been white and more of a brown than green looked so warm and inviting. He felt himself swallow and before deciding in his head, nodded in affirmation.  
  
Going home with her had been the best thing he had ever done as far as he was concerned. She fed him an assortment of things he was trying for the first time and was quiet and patient. He felt himself glance in her direction every so often to decide when she would ask. Ask who he was, what he had done, why he was alone. But no questions came and he was grateful. He wasn't ready to face what he had done yet. And over the days, he found himself asking her the questions. "Don't you want to know who I am, where I came from, why I was alone?"  
  
"Only if you want to tell me. I know what it's like to be pushed to tell someone something. If you are pushed too hard, you'll resist too much and end up lying. So do you want to talk about it now?"  
  
"I don't know, I did a lot of things that I'm not proud of."  
  
"You're not alone."  
  
"Why were you crying?"  
  
"I had a moment of clarity where I realized that what I thought I wanted was not what I wanted at all. That I hurt a lot of people and pushed a lot of people away. That I was truly alone."  
  
"Sounds like me."  
  
She smiled softly at him from her position at the doorframe of the kitchen. Her now short auburn hair not yet dry and dripping little beads of water onto the back of her crimson spaghetti strap top. Black cargo pants and black sandals completed the ensemble. "Thinking hard?"  
  
He spun on the spot and blushed inadvertently; "I didn't hear you. Breakfast is ready."  
  
Sitting across from him she watched him devour his meal of toast and peanut butter. "I made you some bread rolls for lunch. They have a chocolate filling." She waved her hand flippantly and added humbly, "But I'm sure they are nothing compared to Takato's parent's rolls."  
  
His lips parted into a grateful grin, "Thanks." Looking back down at her oatmeal, "You're welcome."  
  
A solid minute of silence passes comfortably between them and as Impmon passed her the sugar he commented that she should not be nervous about tonight. Dates were not her strong suit and she felt herself feel very ill every time she thought about it. She had never had a normal relationship with a normal boy before. Usually she would laps into the confident female role and play mind games with their heads till they didn't know who they were anymore. Just one of her many power trips. To her, boys were nothing more than a game. A game that scared her more than she would ever tell.  
  
"Thanks Impmon. I just hope I don't fall into old habits. I don't like this feeling like I'm not in control."  
  
"Remember, it's not what you wanted. That's what you kept telling me from the start remember. You'll be fine. He really cares about you."  
  
Deep hazel green eyes sparkled, "Not as much as you care about me."  
  
He felt his face grow hot.  
  
"I love you Impmon. I love that you are my best friend. Thanks."  
  
He was sure his face was a bright scarlet now, "I, er, thanks. I love you too you know that right? We'll always be best friends right?"  
  
"Always, till the world stops turning Impmon."  
  
Another mute minute rolled by and Nic scraped her chair backward to get up and rinse her bowl. "I'll be right back." And she left the kitchen to brush her teeth and collect her bag. He nodded and went back to his toast.  
  
After returning, her bag slung over her shoulder, and a file in one arm, he walked her to the door. She bent down to give him his ritualistic good bye kiss on the forehead and opened the door to leave. "I'll see you later."  
  
"Bye!" he waved, his green pools glancing at her bare left wrist. Something was absent from it; her silver bracelet watch. He thought this strange as she was never without it. Perhaps she had forgotten to put it one this morning, or possibly it was broken. Needless to say, he shrugged it off and after the door clicked closed he wandered to her room. He did notice the glinting silver ticking on her dresser. He could have scooped it up in his red, gloved hand and just caught her to give it to her. But he decided against it. She could go through one day without it. He strolled to her bed and picked up the copy of Othello that had slipped to the floor. Out of all Shakespeare's plays, this was her favorite tragedy. Though he flipped through the thin, musty yellow, fibrous pages and glanced at the words, he found he could not understand it. But by deduction through the use of her pencil notes in the margins, he discovered that Iago was her favorite character and his too. He was the most complex and real out of the lot. And he now understood why she said he and her had an Iago complex.  
  
Easily mistaken for evil, Iago was only jealous and cunning and cleaver and although one did not agree with his actions, one understood why he did them. Though Nic never got jealous as much as Impmon did, she did get jealous and would say and do things she would later regret. Just as he had once done. She also was a master at tricks of the mind, another trait she shared with Iago. Both knew how to make people confused, scared and see and think things that were not there. They made them believe the unbelievable by wit and quick thinking and a sadistic urge to see their opponent suffer. (Just as they had suffered at one point in their lives). An unfortunate (or fortunate, which ever way you preferred to see it) accident made them see what they were doing all too clearly but forced them to follow through, knowing that there was no way they could turn back now. A twist in their plans turned all events against them and they were left to suffer once more. To stew in their guilt and remorse. All they ever wanted was love. In Iago's case, his fathers love. In Nic's case, a friends or mans love and in Impmon's case, his tamers love.  
  
A small pencil note at the back of the book caught his attention and he found he had just thought what she had thought at some time. That she felt that she did not deserve that love she received from people. He smiled sadly as he placed the book in her bedside draw.  
  
Nic casually made her way to the busy sidewalk and filtered among the crowd. Shifting the black and white file in her arm she looked down to notice her watch was not there. Stopping and rolling her eyes (a mannerism she used often); she sighed and turned around. Knowing from the clock in the kitchen, she was early and had time to head back up to the house and collect her most important item. Time was always an issue with her. There was so much of it and just never enough at the same time.  
  
Though little did she know she would find the door ajar (not how she left it), and an intruder dressed in navy blue, a ski mask concealing his features. The site of Beelzemon standing in front of the man was another apparition she thought she would never see. She had gone unnoticed for the most part and just heard the words flow from Beelzemon's lips, "This is not your home! You have no right to be here and take what is not yours! Now beat it!"  
  
The information was absorbed like osmosis and she realized that this burglar must have been watching her place for sometime now, knowing that no one would be home at this time. Well not usually. She took it that he had not counted on Impmon being there or her for that matter.  
  
Her best friend (on the instinct to protect) pulled out his gun and warned the man, "Get out now!"  
  
For fear of Beelzemon shooting, she yelped, "Don't!"  
  
Unwanted attention fell on her and the man (who held a long gleaming silver object in his right hand) panicked and fired the gun as he turned. Her world slowed down to an abnormal speed. The man had been only a few feet from her, the gold and copper bullet that had been expelled at immense pressure had the ability to easily penetrate the file held across her chest like armor (but proved little protection), as well as her body. The file slipped from her grasp and hit the floor with an odd thud, a burning hole right through its center. Her bag slipped from her shoulder and her right hand made it's way to the gaping wound in her chest. Just to the left of the sternum, crimson liquid, thicker than water oozed its way out soaking her shirt.  
  
Though the colours of her top and blood seemed similar, the life-giving hue seemed that much darker. Her hand pressed against the rib area and she lifted it away again. Noting the sticky substance covering her hand like a child's covered with paint and preparing to make a stamp on a white sheet of paper. The shock her body swallowed was enough to numb the pain that had not yet registered in her brain. But in a horrible torrent it stung and spiraled outwards from the unnatural hold burning in her chest, just like the file at her feet.  
  
The agony crawled out in pins and needles up her neck, down her arms to her knees, where it was so intense she could no longer hold herself up. Giving way to her weight, her knees caved in and she hit the floor with a hard thud. She barely registered the man running out the door and Beelzemon coming to her aid. In one stomach churning half second, his life spiraled to the tiled floor, and burst, shattered and splinted till it was no longer recognizable. He felt the gravity of the situation weigh like an anchor on his heart for he knew he was helpless to her.  
  
Her legs moved out beside her, so she was sitting on her derrière and she swayed and fell onto her side before the gravity of her weight pulled her onto her back. Breath was becoming hard to come by and her vision was no longer crisps and clear, but fuzzy on the sides. "I'll love you till the world stops turning Impmon. I hope I see you soon." Her rasping voice shocked her and she tried to swallow but found the thick blood was bubbling up to fast. She just noted Beelzemon glow and shrink before she could no longer keep the leads of her eyelids open and so closed them forever. Impmon cried out to the heavens, to hell, to anything and anyone listening. Guilt swallowed him and he wished he could take her place. He threw himself on her chest, soaking himself in the devastating pool and let the crystalline tears flow until they could flow no more.  
  
~~~~****~~~~  
  
"No one ever told me that humans don't get reconfigured. So what happens to their digimon when they die?"  
  
Rika and Renamon looked sadly upon Impmon's back.  
  
"She's never coming back."  
  
"I'm afraid not." Renamon whispered above the slight wind that had picked up.  
  
He sat upon a damp, dark wooden pier clutching a silver urn as if it were his baby and he were protecting it from the harsh world. Upon it was Nic's name and an inscription from one of her favorite songs, "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."  
  
A little ways away was Nic's family. They wished for Impmon to scatter the last remains of their youngest daughter, for he was the closest to her.  
  
There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to fulfill her wish of being let free over the vast ocean, but another part wanted so much to hold onto her forever. Slowly and painfully he unscrewed the lid and removed it. As if on cue, the wind picked up even more and with every ounce of energy he lifted the urn and let the gray dust be scooped up, free to dance with the breeze. Each second his heart breaking more and more till, he himself began to break apart and dance with her on the wind. Renamon took the urn from his slowly deleting hands and continued to carry out his duty till the urn was lighter and the two best friends, so well matched danced an eternal dance on the wind forever. Vowing to never come back.  
  
Rika blinked back the tears in her eyes, "If humans never get reconfigured, what happens to their digimon when they die?"  
  
Renamon looked to the baby-blue-bird sky; "Their souls stay together for eternity and they live on forever."  
  
----~~~~----  
  
Nic: Well that was different for me.  
  
Impmon: Yeah! I'm a muse now!  
  
Ken: It's getting crowed here.  
  
Wormmon: That was so sad, but how come you didn't do it with Ken and me?  
  
Nic: I wanted a change, I really love Impmon and wanted to kinda make this personal what with me being his tamer.  
  
Impmon: She likes me best! Na!  
  
Nic: *Frowning* I never said that. Ken, Kaiser, you will always come first. Impmon, behave, I love you, but you don't give me that much inspiration.  
  
Impmon: *Looking disgruntled*  
  
Wormmon: *laughing at him*  
  
Nic: Awww I'm sorry, *Hugs and kissed Impmon* I should add that bad phase started when I was about twelve but then it would be too complicated with the story, 'cause I only went through that moment of clarity last year not when I was fifteen. What else, oh yeah, I don't own Semi-sonics' "Closing time." (Have you guys noticed that that guys voice sounds just like Matt's singing voice?) I should also add that this was inspired by an improvisation that we did at theater school. We partnered up with a friend and thought of whom we would miss most if they died. I thought of my best friend. I saw it from both sides, I got shot and then I watched my friend get shot and die. It was very intense and draining and while I have never been shot before, I imagined that that's how I would feel and same goes for losing a friend. The helplessness of the situation is the worst, you feel guilty for something you had no control over. So I hope you enjoyed this. Please review. Thanks. 


End file.
